


On Love and Duty

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: Corinne Traven was one of the youngest people to be inducted into the Blades, and later played a more than significant role in the Oblivion Crisis: but that is not here important. What is important is that she became besotted with one of her fellows, later her wife, and that their relationship is one for the ages.(These were my entries for the Femslash February prompts, on Tumblr, here arranged in chronological rather than prompt order.)
Relationships: OC/Caroline
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. "Dawn"

The Blade who would lead Corinne up to Cloud Ruler Temple arrived early, as promised – on the very edge of morning, when the snow about Bruma was just beginning to glow, in that curious blue light that reigns eternal, on such cold mountain mornings as this. Corinne greeted the woman who would be her fellow, a Breton like her, and once their identities had been respectively confirmed, they headed for where their horses were stabled, and began the ride up to the Temple.

Dawn comes slowly and majestically to the Jerall Mountains. They did not begin their journey in darkness, but it was not yet full day, when they were in good sight of their destination – not light enough to see the tops of the mountains, or even the fog that yet swirled around them. But though the Temple was quite magnificent, on its peak, and in all its Akaviri majesty, all daredevil curves and criss-crossing beams, its sheer beauty understating its strength – though the Temple was magnificent, and though Corinne would later come to love it, she did not, on this first visit, pay it much attention at all.

No!... her attention, quite without her realising it, had for the entire journey been on her travelling-companion. A Breton like her, a Blade as she would become, and scarcely older than her: it was reassuring, she thought, to have such company. Reassurance: that was what she thought she felt, as her heart grew warm beside her; as she listened to her merry voice, telling her stories of the Blades, of her adventures, and asking her questions; as she looked upon her face, shining in the growing light, those eyes, those charming eyes; as she watched her movements, so effortless as to appear graceful, but yet managing to betray an astounding strength. Caroline was _reassuring_ , as she rode at her side, and that, surely, was why she took to her, why she remembered her – remembered her clearly, even later, when she had been introduced to all the Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple, when her mind was full of mismatched faces and names.

Her heart swelled with the dawn, and yet as the dawn, she paid it little heed; it would be later, much later, when she realised her sentiments, even then – and on remembering such sentiments, she found herself astonished to associate them with the sunrise, this sunrise she thought she had scarcely seen – she remembered that morning, not in a memory like any other, but in a cascade of colour and light and beauty –


	2. "Magic"

Corinne was a battlemage only in the sense that she was a soldier who could do magic: and even then, she much preferred the security of decent armour, and a keen blade. It had been a source of constant insecurity for her, coming from the background that she did, that she was not a proficient magician. –She’d been a Battlemage in the Imperial Legion, certainly, but that was by title: in practice, not so much.

And Caroline came to know this latter fact, not because she had heard it previously, but because Corinne, in a fit of loquacity quite unlike her, told her herself, her first evening at Cloud Ruler Temple, when they were reunited, after Corinne’s long day of instruction.

‘You’re a mage, then!’ said Caroline.

‘Oh! hardly,’ Corinne replied: ‘certainly it’s in my blood, but I can hardly say I have any decent talent.’

‘Well, I am a Breton as well, and I can hardly do any magic, save a pathetic little Dragonskin, in a pinch.’

Corinne’s mouth twitched, and she corrected her: ‘It isn’t the Breton thing... it’s the “being the daughter of the Arch-Mage” thing. I can’t really say I’ve followed in his footsteps.’

‘Oh!’ and Caroline snapped her fingers. ‘Then it isn’t coincidence of surname? You’re Hannibal Traven’s daughter?’

‘Or one of them.’

Caroline had taken off her gauntlets, and was making a bee-line for the hearth; Corinne followed her, and went on:

‘My father – and my sister – like most mage-scholars, they see magic as, well, the spice of life, as if life is scarcely anything without it. I... I have only ever had any skill at Destruction, and when you have family who dabble in all of the schools, then it seems a poor excuse to call oneself a mage.’

‘There are worse,’ said Caroline, with a reassuring little smile, one which disarmed Corinne, for a moment. She straightened the chairs, and invited her to sit down, before taking a seat herself.

Corinne shrugged. ‘People who can’t do magic always think Destruction is the most impressive. Certainly it’s flashy. But devoted mages see it as unimaginative. As... well, purely destructive.’

Caroline looked sideways at her, and said nothing; she stretched her legs a bit, glanced around to see who else was about, and then looked pointedly at the unlit fireplace. At which Corinne stood, and set a handful of kindling among the logs; she conjured a flame into her palm, and introduced it to the wood. When it had begun to spark, she halted her spell and stepped backwards. Caroline had gone automatically for the bellows: but the magical fire had been perfectly effective on its own, and quickly the room was filled with warmth, and dancing shadows, and a deep comfortable glow.

And Caroline grinned, and echoed, belatedly:

‘Purely destructive, my dear Corinne?’

‘Oh!’

They sat for a bit, in contemplation of the fire, and of each other. At last Corinne made to speak: but she was hesitant, the words came with difficulty, she did not like discussing sentiment. Caroline looked at her, expectantly; and she said:

‘Julianne – my sister – she always says that there is magic everywhere, if you know where to look. I used to think she was trying to reassure me, for my lack of talent. But...’

‘Your sister has the right idea.’

‘I’m starting to think that perhaps she does...’


	3. "Home"

‘I have never seen Anvil,’ said Caroline, offhandedly, as she stoked the fire: ‘you will have to take me there, and show me the city in all its splendour.’

‘I shall...’ Corinne murmured. ‘Certainly it’s nice enough. If you have been listening to Julianne talk about it, know that she exaggerates everything.’

‘I suspected as much,’ said Caroline laughing, ‘when she told me that she awaits nothing in Aetherius more magnificent than the main street... But you sound positively disinterested: was it not your childhood home?’

‘Yes,’ said Corinne: ‘I’m not going to deny I associate memories with it, but... Well, since we moved to the City, it has never really seemed the same, anyway.’ She finished laconically, and could not quite put her full sentiment into words. But Caroline guessed it was something akin to nostalgia, and said:

‘Oh! I quite understand. The way places change... I almost don’t ever want to return to Wayrest, in case it has changed from what I remember. It’s been ten years now, since I came to Cyrodiil. I suppose Anvil is the same for you.’

‘I don’t think it’s quite that.’

Corinne leaned forwards, and gave the fire a reshuffling that it did not really need. Caroline knew her well enough, to know that she didn’t like voicing her feelings, if she hadn’t got them quite in order; but she did not know her well enough, not yet, to know that Corinne felt particularly comfortable in her company: and so she was surprised when Corinne, far from abandon the conversation, turned back at length, and went on:

‘Julianne misses Anvil, and terribly. She still calls it _home_ , even though we haven’t lived there in four years. She calls our house in the City home as well, of course... puts so much effort into making it comfortable, and familiar. It’s the place she comes back to, she doesn’t even call the Arcane University home, I know she doesn’t feel quite relaxed unless she’s there... and not completely relaxed, unless she’s back in Anvil... And I don’t quite understand it.’

Caroline did not mean to encourage her with her expression, but she could not help it.

‘I... I don’t understand it, because... Well, Anvil was home because we lived there, and because my father and my sister were there. The City is home, likewise. And Cloud Ruler Temple, because... well, because all the Blades are there... all my friends.’

‘By which you mean that _people_ , rather than _places_ , make a home.’

‘By which I mean precisely that... and... well, why can’t this tent be home, if it should feel that way? and these fields, these plains that... That we have travelled over... together.’

‘Corinne, you’re a _darling_ ,’ exclaimed Caroline grinning.

Corinne looked at her a little in bafflement.

‘It’s a _very_ long-winded way of saying you enjoy my company.’

Even in the gathering night, and in the burnt orange of the reflected firelight, Corinne went visibly red and said nothing.

‘Well, if we’re going to talk about such things, I have to say I quite enjoy yours as well,’ Caroline went on: and much to even her own surprise, she too blushed somewhat. ‘All this time, I thought that home was far over the horizon, and I didn’t even stop to consider that you can make a home out of fine company and friendship...’ She laughed. ‘Look at us, talking mediocre philosophy when we should be in bed. Long day tomorrow.’

‘Yes...’

But they lingered a minute longer – two minutes, three – and drew closer, as if their fire was a hearth, as if the grass were a rug, and they were at home – that is to say: they were quite at home, and there was fine company aplenty, even in just the two of them. It was but an outpost, on the edge of the mountains, a tent that had gone up that evening, and would be down before the dawn: a temporary home, at best, but a sturdy one – sturdier than any, for it were built upon the best foundations.

And just as one’s home may represent the start of a journey, so might this one – and a grand journey – they had only to embark upon it...


	4. "Promise"

The Blades were sworn to the service of the Emperor: that was their _modus operandi_ , their duty, their very _raison d’être_. Even when they prayed, their prayers were, for the most part, for Talos, for Tiber Septim whose line yet reigned over Tamriel; and when the worst came to the worst, their lives mattered not, if the Emperor were in danger, they must lay down their entire selves, that the Emperor live, the Empire continue, and the Dragonfires yet burn. There were many things that the Blades did – from direct confrontation to the most subtle espionage – but when it came to it, it was all for one sole purpose. Devotion to such a purpose was measured in candidates, expected of novices, and almost taken for granted in the higher echelons, for they were so far in that they expressed it in all that they did, and did not have to say a word, to speak their oath.

That was the promise of the Blades, and that was what Corinne had sworn herself to, on joining them: the Empire was her heart, and she was a loyal servant of he who ruled it, and she was happy, to be granted such an honour as to be accepted into such admirable ranks.

But even early on, her sister kept a close eye on her, an eye that was more disapproving than she might have liked: it was not that Julianne hated the Empire, but she had never much cared for it, and she was not one for pledging loyalty either. She too was sworn to secrecy about the whole matter, of course, but it did not stop her from pestering Corinne with questions, when the latter was in the City, and they were out of earshot of the masses.

‘You’d choose the Emperor over your family?’ she’d asked one day, without malice, but with a raised eyebrow. Corinne did not reply for more than a minute: and when she did, it was to confess that she held them both in equal rank, and hoped she would never have to make that choice.

Julianne knew that such questions were difficult for Corinne to answer, but she could not help asking, a couple of months later, teasing her sister a little:

‘Caroline, or the Emperor?’

And Corinne, whose sentiments for Caroline were at this point known by all but Caroline herself, and which even Corinne tried desperately to deny, lest she make a fool of herself – Corinne, going redder than she had intended, replied:

‘The Emperor, of course.’

Julianne hid a grin, and returned to her alchemy.

When Corinne at last admitted her feelings for Caroline, Julianne could not deny that she had known, since the first time she had seen the pair in each other’s company; she rejoiced to see her sister happy, but could not stop herself from asking, a few months later, the same question.

‘Caroline, or the Emperor?’

And Corinne had looked askance at her, the same as she had, on Julianne’s pestering about her family: and she replied in much the same way, for she admitted that she thought of them as being on the same level, and hoped never to have to decide betwixt them.

Julianne seemed satisfied with the answer, but that did not stop her face from becoming pensive, and though she let the matter drop, and did not ask Corinne any such questions for a good long while afterwards, Corinne caught her watching her carefully, when she was with Caroline, and wasn’t sure she liked it.

Corinne and Caroline had been together for two years, their love had blossomed into one of the most beautiful things in creation, and everywhere they went there were talks of marriage, when Julianne for the third and final time managed to take Corinne aside, and, with a curious look about her face, she asked:

‘Caroline – or the Emperor?’

‘Will you stop asking that thrice-damned question?’ Corinne replied: and her voice was not particularly angry, but it was thick, and she turned her head a little, away from Julianne.

‘I want to know.’

‘I don’t know why you do. It’s not – it’s not your business.’

‘We're sisters.’

‘Does that mean you get to know every damn thing about my private thoughts?’

‘Corinne –’ Julianne took both of her hands in hers, and looked her in the eye, and after a moment’s thought she looked a little embarrassed, and said: ‘Corinne, I – I’m sorry. I – I suppose I’ve been insensitive, and overly curious. I’m sorry. I won’t ask it again.’

‘Won't you?’

‘I swear it, Corinne.’

‘And I... I trust you,’ Corinne murmured, at last. ‘I’m sorry, too... I...’

Julianne’s curiosity got the better of her, despite herself, and she was silent, awaiting her continuation.

And Corinne, to her surprise, brought her closer, clutched her hands more tightly, and said: ‘Caroline, gods damn it all. I’d choose Caroline, I wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe I’m sworn to the Emperor, with an oath, and with my duty: but I’m sworn to Caroline with my life and my soul, I –’ Her voice cracked, and she choked on a sob. ‘It will be my downfall, one day, I’m sure of it. The Emperor’s, at least. I didn’t think that love was like this, I didn’t realise – I have been a fool, perhaps –’

Julianne threw her arms around her, and after a moment whispered: ‘No, you’ve been the opposite of a fool... And you mustn’t think you have made a mistake: or at least, if you have made a mistake, then Caroline has made the same mistake.’

Corinne looked aghast despite everything. ‘You’ve been pestering her as well?’

‘No, I’m just guessing. You ought to ask her, though.’

And Corinne hugged her sister more tightly than ever, and decided that she would, at the first opportunity. – Gods! what did she want her to say? – did she want Caroline to betray her purpose, betray the Blades, as Corinne believed she had? – and if she didn’t, what then? – she had to know, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but it was gnawing at her –

* * *

She asked; she received her answer; and it was not long before another oath was sworn, and within the month, Corinne and Caroline were married – promised to each other, above all else, for all eternity, to Oblivion with the Blades! – and Corinne had thought it would feel like the sundering of the Empire, but it rather felt like the creation of a new one. She had thought, on being sworn into the Blades, that she had made the greatest promise of her life: she had been wrong, and naive, and she might have felt like a fool, were it not for the fact that, every time she looked upon her new wife’s face, she forgot entirely that old promise, and remembered only the new, and all was right with the world –


	5. "Oblivion"

They clasped it together, each other’s soft touch distracting from the searing heat, and pulled it from its ethereal pedestal, as the daedra below screamed, as the fires of the Deadlands burned brighter and more desperately. Around them, chaos: the sundering of the divide between worlds, a roar, a roar without a mouth; and as they clutched the sigil-stone, as they held onto it, and each other, as the last remnants of reality, they felt all else fall about them. And Corinne clutched Caroline’s hands yet tighter, and Caroline clutched Corinne’s, and they kept their eyes on each other, for that was their reassurance, in this extraordinary moment; they were outside of everything, outside of the world, but if they could but anchor themselves, then their selves and their minds would be safe –

The world collapsed about them, the tower was entirely gone; they saw only the blinding light, the roaring flames, and each other. Their hands on the sigil-stone were overlapped, as one. There was the most incredible flurry –

the most deafening darkness –

and then all went black, and the air was unreasonably still, and before them the plains of Bruma began to emerge from obscurity, almost unreal in their relative calm.

They were back! –

Bruma was saved! –

They were Blades: their first concern must be Martin Septim, their first eyes for him; somewhere, Jauffre watched their return, and smiled proudly, and with relief, but he too awaited their confirmation that Martin was alive, that Bruma was safe, that they might proceed in their mission –

Martin was alive, but Jauffre was necessarily disappointed. For as Corinne and Caroline – their armour glistening in the last dying fires from the Gate, fading; their hands still clasped around the burning sigil-stone – when they were cast back to Nirn, they did not see even the least soldier, had eyes not for the army that surrounded them, nor for Martin, nor for Jauffre.

Corinne and Caroline had eyes only for each other. They had fallen, on returning: but they picked themselves up – let the sigil-stone fall unnoticed – their hands met once more, and they as good as fell into as tight an embrace as their armour would let them; then Corinne reached up, took Caroline’s face in both hands, and kissed her.

They did not even notice, when half of the battlefield broke into applause – whether it were for their victory in the Gate, or for this most tender display of affection, was entirely uncertain. Even Jauffre, who had been about to object, found his heart melting a little. Oh! but this was a significant victory, he would allow them it, Martin was alive, and his two finest Blades were safe –

When at last they broke apart, it was with all the confusion of their delayed return to reality; they smiled at each other, and at the armies, very much abashed, but beaming nonetheless: and it was hand-in-hand that they returned to Bruma, carrying the news of their victory, at the head of the column of men, the admiration and the envy of all who saw them.

It is a feat often spoken of by couples in love, to go through Oblivion and back for each other – to go through Oblivion together, and out the other side. But Corinne and Caroline had fulfilled it quite literally – Corinne and Caroline, who were remembered by Bruma – whose glories would be sung of, by years to come, by the bards, who would admire their loyalty, their sense of duty, but who would overpower even that with the love that they had for each other...


	6. "Wounds/Healing"

_For the Emperor!_ the Blades cried, as they went into battle: _for the Emperor_ , and for the Emperor alone, their duty and lives devoted to the Septim ruler, he who must be revered, and protected, that the dynasty reign eternal, that the Empire hold, and that Tamriel itself not be shaken from its very foundations –

 _For the Emperor!_ – that the Dragonfires be lit, and the gaping maw of Oblivion be closed –

 _For the Emperor!_ cried Corinne, as she ventured into the fray, and as she kept Martin close behind her, defending him with all she had, and desperately making sense of the chaos, it was all she could do, to find a way through it, to get to the Temple –

 _For my Gods and Emperor!_ and most particularly: _For the Emperor!_

Mehrunes Dagon had descended upon the City, and his ugly forces of Oblivion: but so had the Blades, and all those in duty to the Emperor, whose loyalty alone might overwhelm the strength of the enemy, who would fight to the bitter end, if it meant the survival of Martin, and of the Septim line –

That was all that mattered –

And Divines, it was the most hideous chaos imaginable, it was bloodshed, and screaming, and the clash of metal, it was darkness, bitterness, it was Oblivion on Nirn, it was worse, far worse, than the searing plains of the Deadlands, to see such horrors on familiar ground, to see the City uprooted by creatures that did not belong, that knew only devastation –

The creatures of Oblivion knew only devastation; and the Blades knew only duty; and Corinne knew only Martin, it fell to him to save everyone, yet it fell to her to save him. Eight years now, she had trained for this; eight years; as long as she kept her sights on the Temple, and her mind on her duty, as long as she forgot the world and herself existed, only the Emperor, and his single purpose; through the streets she ran, monsters she pushed aside and slaughtered, and behind her Martin’s shield shivered, but she did not flinch, only persisted –

Her attention must not waver –

It must not waver, and yet it did.

It wavered, for among the crowds, among the legions, there was that most familiar face, there was Caroline, even under a helmet, even become a machine of war, she knew Caroline, and Caroline was caught in a trap, and she was overwhelmed, and she fell

a second

a century!...

And the Temple of the One was within sight, and the plaza swarming with enemy legions, and Corinne must make a choice.

Caroline – Gods! Caroline, who had fallen; Caroline, her wife

and Martin –

_For the Emperor! –_

In the panic and the flurry and the chaos of it all, she chose Martin, if Caroline were dead, then so would she be, before long, she had only to fulfil her last duty; if Caroline were dead – then so was she, already, Corinne no longer existed, there was only a shell of a Blade, sworn to the Emperor, with her life, and her soul, and everything she had which yet remained –

Corinne chose Martin. And he survived, long enough to save Tamriel, save the Empire, long enough to banish Mehrunes Dagon, and all of his infernal forces. The finale was extraordinary, but it was a victory, and an ending. Corinne chose Martin; and for that, and all that she had done, in service to the Emperor, she would be recognised, and rewarded –

And when all was said and done, she fell to the floor of the Temple, and wept.

There was no place in her mind even for thoughts of death, for all she thought on was Caroline, whom she had lost in the battle, and abandoned; whom she had abandoned, _for the Emperor_. That was what it was to be a Blade; that was what she had been bound to find out, and which she wished she had not. Caroline, who had been there, since that Bruma dawn, eight years ago; Caroline, whose pretty face, whose delicately angled jaw, whose charming optimistic voice, whose kind smile, whose gentle touch, whose caress, whose tender devoted love, whose sheer overpowering loyalty – Caroline, her wife – Caroline, whose entire self had so besotted Corinne, and which besotted her more than ever, now that she was absent, now that she knew what she had taken for granted, for eight years –

Eight years, and Caroline had always been there –

Caroline, whose death would be Corinne’s –

Caroline –

\- who was standing over her, and smiling through a grimace, one bloodied hand clutching her side, and the other held out to her wife.

‘By the gods,’ she said, a whisper, ‘by the gods, you’re _alive_.’

‘Caroline –’

Caroline stumbled to her knees, took Corinne’s face in both hands, drew her eyes away from the wound in her side, and into her own eyes.

‘Caroline, I –’

‘I know we have won; I know all is well; and you are alive, and that's all that matters.’

‘Caroline, you’re injured –’ Corinne murmured, dizzy with astonishment, with grief and joy all at once; and instinctively, she reached out her own hand, and a light shivered in her palm, and the gash was closed, roughly, but definitely –

‘It’s... oh, gods, that wasn’t a good spell,’ said Corinne after a moment, and fell into her wife’s extended arms.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Caroline: ‘it doesn’t matter, there will be time for proper healing, later...’ Then, running a hand through her hair: ‘You are worse off than I – I – well, we all saw what happened –’

‘I don’t know _what_ happened... I... I don’t want to think about it, I... Caroline, I don’t know why I abandoned you, if you had died, I could never, never forgive myself –’

‘But I am alive,’ said Caroline, risking a smile, ‘and so are you.’

‘And that,’ whispered Corinne, almost defiantly, ‘is all that matters.’


	7. "Performance"

Before the untimely death of Uriel Septim VII, when Cyrodiil yet held some semblance of innocence, and when it was not reeling from all of the shocks that had followed, the composer Salomon Geonette had been due to perform one of his symphonies in the Imperial City Arena, in celebration of the life of the Emperor.

It was not something that was much remembered, in the upheaval of the Oblivion Crisis: what good can art do, when the world is falling? what good can it do, when all is changed, and when the simple style of a previous age now seems quaint, almost unpleasant in its bitter nostalgia? No, Geonette’s symphony would surely never be performed: and certainly it was not the greatest concern even of the composer, it was hardly a loss at all, against the sheer incredible devastation.

The Imperial City had had an orchestra, before. Some of them musicians by trade, most of them by pure passion, they had formed one of the City’s most popular entertainments. But it had been a source of amusement, that they performed in the City arena, where by day there was blood and raw violence and uncoordinated onslaughts, and by evening, the dulcet tones of the orchestra, and the gentleness, the order of music: perhaps they ought to perform somewhere else, people said, not among the bloodstains, not in such an atmosphere, not in the arena, where the dying shouts of the day yet seemed to resonate, long into the night, and were scarcely hidden by the music – no, an orchestra does not belong among violence and bloodshed, it is too naïve, it cannot hope to sever the memory of what came before.

And that was what Corinne had thought – when her sister, in conjunction with Geonette, and those members of the orchestra who wished to participate, had decided that there _would_ be a performance despite everything...

‘The symphony has the most beautiful, the most delicate slow movement,’ Julianne had said: ‘we shall play it, in commemoration of what has happened.’

Corinne hadn’t replied, she couldn’t...

It was a month now, since the finale of the crisis, and she had scarcely spoken since then. Her dismal sentiments were furthermore common amongst her fellow Blades, those who had survived, those who did not know what to do, now it was over, now their purpose was gone, and their mission failed. Most had gone back up to Cloud Ruler Temple. Corinne had stayed in the City, with Caroline. And Corinne had been named Champion of Cyrodiil, as if that was supposed to make it any better, as if Martin hadn’t been the one to deserve that title, as if she had saved the land that rather seemed ravaged.

And the orchestra was going to strike up a symphony, a symphony that belonged to the last age, and which ought to have perished with it...

‘We ought to go and listen,’ Caroline said, that very morning.

Corinne looked at her aghast, and Caroline nearly repented of her tentative optimism. But she persisted:

‘It’s a commemoration; it’ll be nice; and your sister is in the orchestra, if nothing else.’

‘I don’t know if I can survive it,’ said Corinne: ‘but I’ll go, for you.’

They went, dressed demurely, but shadows in the darkened arena. There were sparse orbs of light above the orchestra, and the quiet in the arena was astounding, nobody dared to speak, and the approaching dusk was heavy above them. Certainly the atmosphere was one of remembrance and commemoration, but the orchestra would surely rupture it –

It had not been written for the occasion, rather for an entirely different time, and yet it fitted, somehow. The gentle slow movement did not mourn, but nor did it spoil – rather it reflected, remembered, respected. But by the Divines! – it was powerful, sheer raw power, a commemoration more than a lifetime of words might have said, it filled the arena, erupted into the night, took over the City, took over her mind – 

When Caroline felt for Corinne’s hand, on the darkened seat beside her, she found it trembling; and she brought her own hand to her wife’s face, brushed at the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. At the touch Corinne’s composure, which had been as that of a statue, crumbled – she pulled Caroline to her, buried her face in her shoulder, wept –

‘Ssh... ssh...’

They sat there, crying quietly, tightly embraced, until the very end of the piece, when the orchestra, which had soared aloft, came slowly back down to the ground, and let the music gently fade into stillness.

There was no applause, only reflexion; and for Corinne and Caroline, there was no audience, no orchestra, only the memory of the music, the memory of two Emperors, and the presence of each other. Their respective warmth, their silent comfort, was a reassurance, and all that they needed. Caroline took her wife’s hand in hers, pressed it to her soft lips; and Corinne, her heart swelling despite everything, at last murmured:

‘Perhaps all will be well, one day...’

‘It might not feel as if you will ever get over it,’ said Caroline, quietly, in return: ‘certainly I feel the same, sometimes... I wish we might have saved them... But what is done is done, and Cyrodiil is safe, at least, and –’

‘And we shall recover,’ said Corinne.

‘There,’ Caroline said, risking a hesitant smile, and clutching her hand more tightly. ‘I knew you’d come to believe it. As long as there is music, and beauty in the world –’

‘As long as there is you –’ replied Corinne.

When they returned home later, what felt like an age after the rest of the audience had departed, when even the orchestra was long gone – leaving in their wake the last gentle notes of their masterpiece – they were far from recovered, certainly; they yet mourned their two Emperors, their duty, the bygone age – but their faces were not downturned, and their conversation was more optimistic than it had been in a month entire, and they went hand in hand, together into a new era –


End file.
